by S. B. Moores
Her father ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair. “I only want the best for you, dear. You know that. But I don’t know if Walter can spare Justin at this time of year. Harvest season is nearly upon us, and—”
“I’ve promised Mr. Sterling that Justin will receive enough compensation to offset his absence from the farm for a few weeks.”
“You have?” Henry’s look of disbelief slowly turned to a grin. “Well, then. I guess you’ve thought of everything.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Early October 1835
Four days after Justin left Ridgetop to travel to Kentucky, Abigail sat with her parents in the family room, knitting. Her mother was reading a book, while her father perused a week-old edition of the Louisville Gazette newspaper. When they spoke, the conversation consisted mostly of plans for the coming holidays.
Her father looked up from his newspaper. “I see that civilization has finally come to Tennessee.”
“It’s about time, I think. In what way?” Her mother didn’t look up. She was clearly skeptical.
“Someone has started riverboat service on the Cumberland and Tennessee rivers. They say the service is first class. Apparently you can travel all the way to Cincinnati. Or the other way to New Orleans, if you care to.”
“Imagine that,” her mother said.
Abigail watched her mother’s reaction carefully. Henrietta, the homebody, had seen enough travel in her life, just by coming to Ridgetop. The only travel she might consider at her age would take her back to Virginia and to civilization as she knew it. Even that was questionable, now that Ridgetop was home. Abigail had read the same newspaper article earlier in the day. New riverboat service perfectly complemented her plan, but she hadn’t said anything to her parents. She wanted them to believe her idea, when she revealed it, was spontaneously conceived.
“Have you received any more news from Aunt Tilda?” Abigail asked her mother.
“Nothing since her last letter. But you know how hard it is to get any news in Ridgetop. Perhaps riverboat service will improve that.”
“I hope poor Tilda is feeling better,” Abigail said.
“As do I, dear. As do I.”
Abigail let a minute or two pass in silence.
“Didn’t Uncle Thurston’s brother die of the grippe?”
“Uncle Thurston?” Her mother looked up from her book. “Yes, I believe he did. His oldest son, Alva, did, too, if I recall. A nasty business, the grippe. And they were all alone on that farm of theirs. It was so terrible.”
Terrible, Abigail knew, because Thurston lay dead in his farmhouse for more than a week before anyone found him.
After another minute of silence, Abigail said, “I am so looking forward to spring. It seems a year that we’ve been cooped up in this old house.”
“Yes, dear.” Her mother looked at her over the top of her half-frame spectacles. “I imagine you’ll be getting into all manner of trouble with your friends when the days turn warmer.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m older now, Mother, and more mature. And there’s the business to think of.”
Her mother glanced at her again, but this time said nothing.
Abigail decided it was time to strike. Once again she spoke casually, without looking up from her knitting. “I do worry about Aunt Tilda, though, all alone in Louisville. I wouldn’t want the poor woman to end up like Uncle Thurston.”
“Please don’t say that.” Her mother didn’t like to think about such grizzly things.
“Oh, I know! Mother. Father. I have a wonderful idea.” She put down her knitting. “I shall travel to Louisville on the new riverboat and look after Aunt Tilda myself. Even if she’s past her most serious illness, she’s bound to need assistance with her household chores. Don’t you think?”
“Oh, my.” Her mother put her hand to her mouth. “Louisville is so far away.”
“Not anymore.” Her father slapped the newspaper with one hand. “They say it’s only three days up the river. Two in the other direction.”
Her mother gave Henry a “don’t encourage her” glance and said, “It’s bound to be dangerous. What kind of person travels on a riverboat?”
Her father set the newspaper down, as if to hide it from Abigail. “Your mother is right. You shouldn’t travel alone, even on a riverboat.” He looked at his wife, hoping she realized he supported her. Henrietta gave him a stiff smile.
“I’ll take Elly with me,” Abigail said. “We should be fine.” Abigail felt her secrets were safe with Elly, who was only a few years older than she. Elly had been a close companion for Abigail as they grew up together, and she and Elly had spent many hours in Abigail’s room talking about the boys in Ridgetop County.
“I just don’t know, dear.” Her mother shook her head. “I don’t like the idea at all.”
“Surely you wouldn’t begrudge Aunt Tilda a little aid in her recuperation, would you?” Abigail looked at her mother with pleading eyes. “She’ll be so happy to see me, I know. And I her. Don’t you think?”
Her mother looked at the ceiling, or perhaps to the Lord in heaven for support, but Abigail felt her mother’s resistance weakening.
After two more days of on-and-off discussion, Abigail finally prevailed. It turned out that a local farmer, Jules Compton, was traveling by boat to Louisville himself. He said he’d be glad to accompany Abigail and her servant.
For Justin, getting away from the insular community of Ridgetop and his chores was well worth the long journey on horseback to northern Kentucky. He had read about Lexington and other faraway places in books and the occasional newspaper, but he never expected to get the chance to visit them. Not that Fayette County was as distant or exotic as London, or even Texas, but he took in every detail of what he saw along the way.
The time alone also gave him a chance to think. The news that Abigail and Toby were going into business together was a hard blow, but eventually he realized it wasn’t the end of the world. Not yet, anyway. He was surprised that Henry had agreed to the business, but no doubt he thought it the first step in a more permanent joining of the Johnson and Whitfield families. Surely Abby realized the danger of her bargain, but to what extent did she agree with the underlying presumption? He couldn’t believe she did, or at least he didn’t want to. Abigail Whitfield knew her own mind, and she’d rather spend time with her horses than with any man Justin knew, including Toby. No doubt she was using Tobias to get her father to agree to the enterprise. Still, Abby’s dream was strong enough. She might be willing to pay the price of marriage to seal the deal. As his father had said, only time would tell.
In spite of everything, the fact that Abby had asked for his help gave him hope. Perhaps this was one of the tests his father had spoken of. And it was fortunate that he’d had his father’s timely counsel. On hearing the news of his friends’ business, Justin was utterly dismayed. He wanted to seize Abigail by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. On the other hand, if she was indeed willing to marry Toby, then Justin’s understanding of her feelings for him, or at least his fervent hopes, were simply illusions and always had been. He refused to believe he had been mistaken about Abby for so long. But for now, at least, he intended to keep his emotions anchored and his sails furled until he knew which way the wind blew.
Pondering life’s unexpected turns, Justin rode steadily through woodlands and gently rolling hills that gradually gave way to Kentucky’s open green pastures, the color of which reminded him of Abby’s eyes. Whitewashed fences ran for miles in every direction. On each farm he passed there stood a house bigger and more impressive than the Whitfields’, if such a thing was possible. At one of the smaller mansions he asked for directions, only to learn from the occupants that he’d stopped at the servants’ quarters. His head swam at the thought of such wealth. If these were the farms of Kentucky, he couldn’t imagine what the city of Lexington looked like. It was reputed to have a population of nearly 7,000 people.
After seeing the county’s far
ms, he was ready to think the residents of Lexington lived on fluffy white clouds and traveled by magic carpet, as in the stories of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainment. The reality turned out to be less impressive than what he’d imagined. Lexington was firmly anchored to the ground. Houses on the periphery of town were substantial, but more modest than those of the wealthy horse farms. Most of the streets were no more than muddy lanes running between the houses and businesses, but closer to the center of the city the streets had been cobbled, making travel easier. Three-and four-story brick houses stood shoulder-to-shoulder, with a bakery, wheelwright, butcher’s shop, or some other business on every corner. Justin had never seen so many people in one place. How could they live in such crowded conditions? Where were they all going? Except for the tradesmen, most of the residents he encountered were dressed in clothing Justin would only have worn to church on Sunday, not the sturdy leather and wool workaday clothing of a farmer. More than a few men he saw reminded Justin of Hutchison Bailey, both in their manner of dress, and in the unfriendly glances they gave him. They looked silly in their pantaloons, elaborate cravats, and beaver-skin top hats. Surely Justin looked every inch the country bumpkin to these city men, dressed as he was in his buckskins.
The women were a different story. They wore graceful dresses, long enough to cover their ankles, with elaborately decorated shoulders. Most wore hats of many styles and colors, but they still carried parasols to shade them from the sun. They wore their hair gathered at the top or sides of their head, often rolled into decorative braids or other shapes, and to Justin they could have been goddesses descended from Mount Olympus. Would Abby ever want to live in such a city? What would she think of the outfits these city women wore, outfits he could never afford to buy her?
More than one woman on the street gave Justin an appreciative look, much to the dismay of their gentleman companions. He wasn’t sure what it was they found so interesting, but he intended to find a decent shirt and jacket as soon as he could and change out of his traveling clothes.
He left the center of Lexington and found lodging in a road house near Richmond. He was more comfortable there, where he could learn about the available stock and take advantage of auctions near both towns.
A week later, Justin sat in a Lexington sale barn with other interested bidders, listening to the singsong cadence of the auctioneer, who encouraged higher and higher bids. A superb Arabian caught his eye as it was led into the ring. If he could acquire the animal for a reasonable price, he’d have seven exceptional horses, enough for Abby and Tobias. The bidding came fast, but each new offer was topped by a gentleman, whom, he was told, had come from Louisiana by riverboat. From the man’s beaver-skin top hat, brocade vest, and plum-colored jacket, Justin assumed he had money. Justin’s first few bids nearly exhausted his remaining budget. But in his mind’s eye, he could see Abby galloping the Arabian over open fields like the ones outside Lexington, with her red hair flowing behind her in the wind. With that image in mind, Justin intended to pay for the Arabian with his own money if he could.
He raised two fingers, agreeing to pay twenty-five dollars. The auctioneer barely interrupted his song enough to recognize Justin’s bid. He continued, encouraging someone to top it, but the other men in the room fell silent. The gentleman from Louisiana held his fist to his chin, thinking hard. Silently, Justin prayed that the southerner would concede. The auctioneer’s voice changed pitch, indicating that bidding would close. At “going once,” the Louisianan bid thirty dollars. Justin was crushed. He could not afford a further bid, even with his own money. The auctioneer’s cadence slowed. Even he knew the bidding couldn’t go much higher. He looked at Justin one last time. Defeated, Justin set his jaw and shook his head. The auctioneer nodded and started to bring the bidding to a close. At “going twice,” a woman called from the back of the room. “Thirty-five dollars!”
Surprised, even the auctioneer skipped a beat, but he acknowledged the woman’s bid and took up his chant again, albeit at a slower pace. Odd as it was for a woman to attend an auction, much less to bid, every man in the room turned to see who she was. She stood by herself in the last and highest row of the elevated seats. A teal-colored cloak covered her shoulders, and her face was hidden in the shadow of a hood. But red hair spilled from the corners of the hood and Justin’s jaw dropped. Abigail Whitfield was the bidder.
The gentleman from Louisiana tipped his hat and bowed to Abigail. Reluctantly, he shook his head for the auctioneer and the hammer slammed down, ending the bidding. Abby had her Arabian. A new horse of lesser quality was led into the arena and the auction continued. Abigail motioned for Justin to meet her at the entrance to the barn, and he made his way in that direction.
When they met, he took off his hat and slapped his thigh with it. “Abigail Whitfield, what in the world are you doing here?”
“I could see your resolve weakening back there.” She gestured in the direction of the arena. “And I couldn’t let the Arabian get away.” She smiled to show she was kidding.
“It wasn’t my resolve weakening, it was my purse, but I can’t imagine a better turn of events. How did you—?”
“The riverboat to Louisville.” She tilted her head coyly, reveling in Justin’s astonishment at her presence so far from home. “I went there to visit an ailing aunt. And, as long as I was nearby, I took a coach to Lexington. I thought I’d check up on you, to see whether you’d taken my father’s money and sneaked off to Boston.”
“I was tempted to, of course. But knowing your volatile temper, I’d have needed a steamship to the Orient to get far enough away. And your father wasn’t quite that generous.”
“You know me too well.” She threw back her hood.
“But not nearly as well as I thought.” Justin’s appreciative gaze took her in from head to toe, causing her to look away.
“Perhaps we can remedy your unfamiliarity,” she said. “I intend to go with you when you take the stock home.”
“What? What of your sick aunt?”
“If Aunt Tilda were any more fit, she’d be swinging from the parlor chandelier. We had a very nice visit, and now I want to accompany my investment, and you, back to Tennessee.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Someone has to make certain you complete your task.”
“Abby. The trip home will not be as easy as a riverboat cruise. I’ve seven horses and two fillies to shepherd all the way to Ridgetop.”
“Then you could use some help, couldn’t you?”
“Perhaps, but you haven’t eaten my cooking.”
“I know how to catch—and cook—a fish, if you are so miserable a chef.”
“I’ll be living in a tent for at least a week.”
“You?” She examined her fingernails. “Have you forgotten your manners?”
“No, of course not.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s big enough to sleep four, but I’ll be sleeping under a tree for a week, not in the tent.”
“That’s better.”
“Your father will kill us anyway.”
“He might.”
“And Toby. What will Toby think?”
“Toby doesn’t own me. Not yet, anyway. Besides, Elly will be with us. She can attest that you kept your hands to yourself.”
“I’m doomed either way, since Henry would fault me if I abandoned you in Lexington.”
“It would be remiss of you at that, now that you know I’m here.”
“God, Abby, it’s good to see you. Worth every blow your father will strike on my poor, weathered brow.”
“Such a poor brow.” She put a hand on his forehead. “I’ll make sure my father behaves. Now let’s go collect my horses.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lexington, Kentucky, Mid-November 1835
Few preparations for the return journey were necessary, other than purchasing additional flour, some salted meat, and a few extra blankets. Justin was ready to leave Fayette County in two days. By that time Elly had taken ill, and Abig
ail decided her servant should return to Ridgetop on the steamboat. Neither Justin nor Abigail wanted to delay the return trip or take the chance of contracting Elly’s illness. Neither had the funds at hand to buy passage on the boat for all three people and the horses. More importantly, Abigail hoped that, if Elly arrived home first and brought the news that she was returning with Justin and the horses, enough time might pass to dampen her father’s inevitable anger before she finally arrived.
Justin was not disappointed to have only one, not two, women to look after on the ride home. It would be the first time in his life that he’d be alone with Abby for more than a few minutes. He looked forward to the intimacy and feared it at the same time. What would they talk about? Would they get tired of each other’s company? Justin couldn’t imagine he’d ever tire of Abby, but he’d never entertained a woman for so long, and he didn’t know what kind of attention she would require, especially if her future lay with Toby.
Two days later, Abigail sat on a folding stool in front of the canvas tent, pretending to read from a small bible her mother had insisted she take on the trip to Kentucky. Surreptitiously, she watched Justin tend to the horses, framed as he was by the blood-red setting sun. They were camped in a grassy meadow, next to a small river, and, although the setting was idyllic, dark clouds pressed on the horizon and promised that bad weather would soon be on them. She wondered if Justin noticed. After all, he hadn’t appeared to notice her much in the last two days. He attended to all her needs, to be sure, but that wasn’t the kind of attention she sought or expected.
He had started their journey as a perfect gentleman, but did he have to remain one? Unfortunately, his maddening deference had opened an awkward distance between them. She had known Justin Sterling most of her life, and she had never felt uncomfortable with him. But now he no longer spoke to her with the alluring charm she was used to. As pleasant as he’d been, he was clearly ill at ease, and that surprised her. Whatever the cause, she had to get to the bottom of it.
